


Cheating (Kinda)

by w_x_2



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9168427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w_x_2/pseuds/w_x_2
Summary: Sherlock gets home after being distracted by one of Moriarty's minions to find out that the criminal mastermind visited John while the consulting detective was out of the house, and even worse, John has locked himself in the bathroom.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not my characters, no harm intended, no profit made.  
> Warnings/Triggers/Spoilers: Talk of knife being used before and during sex, the aftermath (care taking of wounds) and also mentions of Sherlock being in a fight.

“The door is locked, John,” Sherlock complains as he rattles the door handle to the bathroom very shortly after arriving at home.

 

John startles, looks up and meets his own face in the mirror before he shifts his gaze to the side where he can see the reflection of the closed door behind himself. “I've just made you state the obvious,” John remarks in triumph with a forced smile at the mirror -and himself- before he looks back down and around to the further side of his hip where there is a wound which he had been cleaning prior to Sherlock making his presence known.

 

“John,” Sherlock calls tersely as he slams his hand on the door with a displeased tone. He's just about managing to stop himself from breaking in into the room.

 

“What does that tell you?” John coerces as he focuses on finishing the job of patching himself up.

 

So far he's cleaned and covered the wounds on his thighs -a set of three barely there cuts running the vertical length of the inside of each thigh-, the teeth marks which had drawn a bit of blood under his left shoulder blade -he'd almost had to contort himself into a pretzel to make sure it was done right- and a couple of cuts on his front.

 

“What are you trying to hide?” Sherlock demands instead as he curls his fingers tightly into his palms.

 

“That's not an answer to what I asked Sherlock,” John reminds as he deems that his side is appropriately dressed and takes two steps away from the mirror to take in the extent of damage Sherlock believes he's hiding. The movement pulls at the cuts on his thighs and sparks a feeling which John is not quite sure how to identify. Despite that his eyes go immediately to his neck where he knows Sherlock's eyes will also be drawn to first. There's a long but shallow cut across the left side of his neck which ends under his Adam's apple. The knife had been placed there for John to feel the dangerousness, the implication of how at risk he was with the sharp metal being held against his throat rather than actually causing damage – not that he'd known that at the time but he can tell now that that was the case because of just how precise the line that the knife left behind is on his neck.

 

When he shifts his eyes ever so minimally to the side he can see the already healing cut to his damaged shoulder in the mirror. The skin had barely been nicked – it was the one thing that John had been adamant on, putting a stop to the knife cutting any deeper by first using his words and then his hands when that hadn't been enough. The scars from the bullet he'd been shot with during the war are enough on their own to bring back memories, he doesn't need them tarnished, nor multiplied, by another.

 

The one scar that's been left behind which will stay with him for some time -after a few months the skin will heal enough to blend in with the rest of his body- is the one on his torso. It was the deepest the knife had gone –it had been done right after he'd put a stop to being _marked_ lower down on his hip– but it certainly wasn't enough to kill him nor to leave any lasting damage, therefore John hadn't bothered to gather enough wits about him to put a stop to it. The bandage covers the whole of his left pectoral and looking back on it he has no idea why he let it happen, why he allowed someone to cut right over his heart. He'll have to make sure to always keep a shirt on for Sherlock not to catch sight of that one.

 

John shakes his head to get the forming thoughts of what Sherlock would think about him if he saw it, but the stretch creates a sting of pain in his neck so he goes back to a comfortable position where he can continue to look down his body. The rest of his chest is littered with hickeys, his stomach has two wide sets of teeth marks indented in the skin -they'll disappear soon because they didn't break the skin- and the bandage on his hip covers two cuts which make an upside down V -he's pretty certain he stopped the creation of that piece of art at the right time otherwise he'd have an M on him.

 

“You never lock the door, therefore you are trying to hide something from me,” Sherlock reasons as he glares at the door.

 

“You forgot the keyword there Sherlock. I'm trying to hide something from you _momentarily_.”

 

Sherlock makes a displeased sound and utters, “I am coming in.” He leans down onto one knee and moves a hand into one of the pockets of his jacket to fetch the necessary tools.

 

“No, you are not,” John argues in his soldier's commanding tone and Sherlock stills in trying to pick the lock. “I simply want privacy Sherlock. You can find out and see with your own eyes what happened when I come out. Not before then. I just want some privacy for the moment. You can stay where you are and keep talking to me but you will not open this door.” There's no 'or otherwise' because dealing with Sherlock is at times like dealing with a child which means there is no possibility of Sherlock not doing what John tells him, no repercussions, there's only obeying.

 

“John,” Sherlock verbally objects but places the tools back in their designated pocket.

 

“Tell me what you were out doing,” John suggests.

 

Sherlock pivots in his position and sits down with his back flat against the door. “Tell me what Moriarty was doing here.”

 

“How do you know he's not still here?”

 

“If he was here he wouldn't allow you to speak.”

 

John's brow furrows and he queries, “No?”

 

“No,” Sherlock tersely answers, he's not going to explain _that_ any further.

 

“How did you know Moriarty was here?” John tries instead.

 

Sherlock waves a hand in the air and scrunches his nose even though –probably _because_ – John can't see him. “He left a note on the door.”

 

“Oh.” Moriarty had seen himself out earlier and John had walked straight from his bedroom –where Moriarty had found him– to the bathroom and not left it since then so it's only normal that he hasn't seen the note. The key point here though is that if he'd been given the chance John is not sure if he would have removed the note and therefore have avoided Sherlock discovering it – while he doesn't think that Sherlock needs to know every single detail of Moriarty's visit, he doesn't want to hide everything from him either.

 

“What did he want?”

 

“I'll let you deduce that when I get out.”

 

“John,” Sherlock complains and reminds himself that he's been told _not_ to force his way inside the bathroom.

 

“What were you doing out?” John offers.

 

“Did he hurt you?” the consulting detective counters.

 

“Not excessively,” John answers as truthfully as he can.

 

“Lemme see,” Sherlock orders.

 

“Later.”

 

“Are you bleeding?”

 

“What did you do today?” John's hand reaches out to his shirt resting on the side of the tub and he slides it on and tucks the tails inside his trousers before buttoning it up from bottom to top, so that when his eyes rest on his neck once more as the last button on his collar is buttoned there's almost no evidence of anything happening to his body.

 

It will still be enough for Sherlock to notice though.

 

In truth, if he's honest, it's not _just_ not wanting to completely hide this from Sherlock, but that he _wants_ Sherlock to see, to _know_ because... _because._ Call it revenge for all the times that Sherlock has interrupted and consequently given John blue balls, or payback for _really_ making him angry this morning, or proof that John  _can_ do and be what _he_ wants, or maybe, even honesty, because he's never told Sherlock about these sides of him, has consciously hidden them and made it impossible for Sherlock to deduce them before - it could be just one or all of them the reason why, but he _needs_  Sherlock to know.

 

“How much are you bleeding?” Sherlock demands as he gets up and plasters his body against the door because John's non-answer was reply enough.

 

“It's slowing down,” John answers as he does up the buttons at his wrists.

 

“Did he try to kill you?”

 

John sighs softly to himself. “Not full out.”

 

“Be more explicit,” Sherlock grits his teeth at the lack of accuracy.

 

“I am coming out,” John announces as he finally looks away from the mirror.

 

“Well, hurry up then!”

 

“Are you gonna fall on top of me when I open this door?” His tone is teasing but also curious now that he's right on the other side of the door.

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” Sherlock voices in what appears to be a scoff to John's ears.

 

“Ok,” John replies with a roll of his eyes and opens the door. Sherlock momentarily loses his balance –he was still leaning against the door– but only minimally, doesn't even brush any part of John's body.

 

“La petite mort,” Sherlock breathes out at once as he takes in John's state.

 

John clears his throat and nods. “Now you know.”

 

“Let me see.”

 

“There's no need–”

 

“You said you would let me see,” Sherlock challenges with a fierce look.

 

“You've already reached a conclusion,” John tries to oppose.

 

“I want to see what he did to you,” Sherlock responds.

 

And John hears it again, even more clearly now because of the heightened intensity of Sherlock's voice: It's not a request.

 

“What for?” John resists as he takes a few steps forward so that he's outside of the toilet and then tries to step away but gets stopped by Sherlock blocking his path. Yes, alright, he did want Sherlock to _see_ and also to conclude exactly what had happened because he's still bloody well _pissed_ at the consulting detective, but again, Sherlock doesn't need to know every little detail and therefore just how perverse John is.

 

“I want to ascertain that you truly are alright.”

 

“Didn't know you cared so much,” John replies automatically even though he knows it in himself that it is a lie.

 

Sherlock's features turn angry for a moment, he takes in a deep breath through his nose as his teeth grind and jaw tenses further before he opens his mouth to ask, “Was it consensual?”

 

John winces, there's no point in trying to lie. “I see how it would be best to say no,” John comments as his gaze briefly shifts to the wall behind Sherlock's shoulders and then back to Sherlock's scrutinizing gaze. “ _But_. It was,” he answers, and then explains, “We were arguing, we started fighting, and then he called out 'pause' and went limp which gave me the upper hand.”

 

“ _You_ initiated it?” Sherlock questions with a tone of disbelief.

 

John shakes his head and clarifies, “Moriarty initiated things, it wasn't one of my best decisions to go along with it but I was not against what happened.”

 

The consulting detective's tone is harsh when he asks, “You'll do it again?”

 

John tenses and defensively replies, “Why not?”

 

“He held a knife to your throat.”

 

John brings a hand up to his throat, rubs the skin as he remembers the knife being there. “He held a knife to my throat while we were fighting.”

 

“He made cuts on you while you were having intercourse.”

 

“Yes,” John answers. “Those were consensual.”

 

“Of course John,” Sherlock replies in the most sarcastic tone John has ever heard coming out of his mouth. “Moriarty asked if he could, didn't he?”

 

“You bloody well know he did not,” John bites out, _God_ , he's burning under his skin again, their argument from earlier in the day coming right back to the forefront of his mind with the possibility of another, or rather, the continuation of it.

 

“This is reckless even for you John,” the consulting detective chides.

 

“You're giving me a lecture about being reckless?” John snaps.

 

Sherlock's stance turns defensive and then in argument he utters, “I did not know that Moran was his pet, you on the other knew exactly who Moriarty was.”

 

“What are you talking about?” John asks confusedly. “Who's Moran?”

 

“He's t–”

 

“No,” John cuts him off short because he'd caught Sherlock's posture unintentionally shifting as his gears turned and he decided to lie. “Don't lie to me _again_.” It's an order and a reminder - John had caught Sherlock lying right to his face earlier in the day.

 

Sherlock swallows, takes a moment and then replies, “I assumed you had seen the blood,” he says honestly.

 

“What blood Sherlock?” John demands as he searches the younger man's body with his eyes.

 

Sherlock lifts an arm and his hand comes up bloody.

 

“Maybe I should be the one to examine you,” John irritably utters.

 

“Maybe you should, but I get to examine you too,” Sherlock bargains with a knowing tone.

 

John looks down at Sherlock's bloodied hand and sighs before turning around and walking back inside the bathroom.

 

“I didn't have sex with him,” Sherlock reveals. “I just–” Sherlock stops himself.

 

John watches as Sherlock settles in front of him, sitting on the edge of the tub as John sits on the closed toilet seat. “You don't _have to_ tell me,” he softly reminds. He'd argued strongly for his right to his privacy this morning but Sherlock had defended himself by claiming that he couldn't unsee all of the apparent clues nor stop his brain from deducing the obvious, so John had countered with the obvious, that Sherlock could _pretend_ that he hadn't seen everything, that he could keep the information to himself and let John keep on believing that he could keep some things to himself. Now John, he isn't like that, he's not able to see as many things as Sherlock so he can't deduce exactly what has happened, but he knows that when he makes it evident that he  _wants_ to know, Sherlock tends to provide him with all the answers, and right now, he can only gather that his expressions and his body's posture is making it evident that this is one of those times where he strongly  _wants_  to know. However, if John is entitled to his privacy, then so is Sherlock.

 

Sherlock looks down as he says, “I was on my way home when Moran bumped into me. He had clearly practiced his hero role with Moriarty and I fell for it for 1.53 minutes before he stole a kiss.” Sherlock clears his throat as the conviction that he doesn't have to explain himself dies away. “He really reminded me of-” Sherlock shakes his head and his curls swing as they brush across his forehead. “His charm worked for a brief moment, and he was going for more too but I realized something wasn't quite right so I said no, and then he showed his true colours.”

 

John waits in silence for Sherlock to say as much as he wants, reminds himself to relax and be open but not demanding.

 

Sherlock rolls up the sleeve of his jacket and then reaches towards John, turning up the palm of his hand for John's perusal as he thinks about how Moran had soon revealed himself to be working for Moriarty and how he had then said those _things_ about John.

 

 _John doesn't wants you. He's already getting fed up with you, that domestic spat you had in public today is proof of that. You know it won't be long at all before he gets bored and_ leaves _you._

 

And all through that Moriarty had been here in their home, _with_ John. He'd probably only been trying to further separate John and Sherlock with his words but read that when John is in the midst of danger there's arousal simmering under his skin and taken advantage of that to try to lengthen the gap between John and Sherlock. The consulting detective doesn't know how well Moriarty has achieved that just yet, but there's something else that Moriarty has certainly achieved: Sherlock hurting. “He planned it all,” he says of the criminal mastermind.

 

“Sherlock,” John replies with a fearful tone.

 

Sherlock knows exactly what John is thinking about, and it's not Moriarty. “Moran didn't get to do anything else, we fought but as good as he is, once he started fighting I could read him easily. He had a knife and I grabbed the blade with my hand in defence. That's it.”

 

“Are you sure?” John asks softly as he has a look at Sherlock's hand to check just how deep the cut is.

 

“It's just the hand,” Sherlock truthfully replies. What Moriarty didn't count on is how much heart John has despite how angry -doesn't feel like anger so much anymore, probably irritation now- he is also.

 

They are both completely silent as John cleans and bandages Sherlock's hand with the supplies he'd used just minutes ago on himself.

 

“Wait,” John calls when Sherlock stands up and steps away from him when John's done taking care of his hand. Sherlock turns to look at him and waits for him to continue. “I won't do it again.”

 

“You can make your own decisions.”

 

“That's not-” John counters. “It was a heat of the moment thing. I was still angr-”

 

“Just be careful,” Sherlock retorts after the ex-army doctor cuts himself off as he mentions the argument that they had had earlier for the first time since it happened.

 

“Just wait a second Sherlock.” John reaches out as he stands up but doesn't actually make contact with Sherlock.

 

“What is it?” Sherlock asks with an annoyed tone as he turns around. Once he focuses it's actually really easy to read John's expression and figure out what the shorter man is thinking about doing so Sherlock draws back his face as much as he can without moving the rest of his body and voices, “Do not-”

 

“Why not?” John immediately interrupts.

 

“Bec-”

 

“We argued yet again because you just couldn't let me make the most of it with someone else.” John remembers of this morning's argument. “But the thing is, I like you,” he informs. “I could happily spend the rest of my life with you even without the sex, and yes, despite being an asshole and letting Moriarty read me like the back of my palm and act like you enough to make me forget that it was actually him, I say that with honesty.” John swallows but he doesn't back down even though Sherlock takes another step back. “You like me,” he declares with certainty as he takes a step towards Sherlock to bring them closer again. “So why is it so hard for us to come together?”

 

“I am married to my work,” Sherlock fiercely replies.

 

John takes another step closer. “I never asked you to quit.”

 

“No,” Sherlock agrees but ponders stepping back and away again.

 

John arches an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth lift in a smile. “You could cheat?”

 

Sherlock finally breaks their gaze and looks off to the side and John notices just how tense the consulting detective is. He'd thought he'd been making progress, that he could actually convince Sherlock that they can take the final step to be together seeing as in reality they have been dancing around one another for a very long time.

 

“If we were to get further involved,” Sherlock begins in a raspy tone but makes himself go on, “you wouldn't just become a distraction but a hindrance instead of the brilliant conductor of light that you are now.”

 

John shifts on his feet, he feels both offended and flattered.

 

“You already take up too much space in my mind palace,” Sherlock admits. “I can't deal with you taking over it.”

 

“I-” John's about to defend himself and say that he is not _that_ demanding but Sherlock cuts him off.

 

“You wouldn't demand it, but I wouldn't be able to help it. You would consume me. Every thought and decision would be dictated by _what would John think and do_.” Sherlock clears his throat as he shifts his gaze back to John's, willing him to understand and then he looks over John's shoulder to continue in a broken tone, “So you see, that's why it's so hard for us to come together.” Sherlock breathes in slow and deep to fill up his ribcage with air as he fights to hold in all of the emotions that are threatening to burst out.

 

It turns out that Moriarty has done an excellent job, although they haven't argued further -not really- he's certainly made it so that the consulting detective had to spell out that John and Sherlock will never truly be together. And now that John has got it in his mind that he _likes_ Sherlock, doing so can only drive John away and into someone else's arms, that is a fact.

 

Sherlock only hopes that those arms do not belong to Moriarty ever again.

 

It's a long time before John replies because he's at a loss for a while, unsure how to explain that he's tired of trying to find someone else, tired of essentially cheating because Sherlock first drives him away and then reels him back in by driving the other person away. He wants _Sherlock_ , if anything, Moriarty had certainly made that clear during their encounter even if he hadn't meant to.

 

“Love is scary, especially I would imagine with that wonderful big brain of yours. But Sherlock,” John waits patiently for the taller man to look at him, to meet his gaze and see the truth in his eyes. “You're not the only one who feels this way.” John exhales loudly. “When I am with someone else I start getting impatient, thinking _what the hell is taking Sherlock so long, why hasn't he driven this person away yet?_ ” And isn't that the truth, he hasn't always thought like that, it used to be _hope Sherlock doesn't text and say that he needs me during dinner yet again,_ but for a while now, any time that John has managed to slip away he's just wanted to get right back to Sherlock. “And that is more than a bit not good, but it's the truth,” he admits. “I didn't know that you felt this way for me until now, thought that you were just afraid that I would leave and you wouldn't have a conductor of light, someone to make sure you eat, to talk at and fetch you whatever it is you want, but it's clear now that you do.” John smiles softly as he searches Sherlock's gaze. “It's just the opposite of what Moriarty wanted, but he's made me realize that I love you too, I do,” he confirms with full belief, “And even if you don't want anything more between us because you believe it will change _you_ -while that is not all that I want- it is enough to _know._ ”

 

John shifts as Sherlock opens his mouth to speak but then closes it- what John is saying is only temporary.

 

“You can probably hear the _for now_ in there,” John grants. “And that's because I believe that you will come to understand that while you will learn more about me, I _already_ live inside your mind palace and there is no way that I can change that beautiful mind of yours.”

 

“John, how can you not?” Sherlock supplicates for understanding.

 

“You are your own person as I am my own person which means that we will continue to have our fights about the body parts in the fridge and bickering about the channel on the tv, but we won't hinder one another. We can compromise further as we have already done plenty of times before, but after five years of living together, I think we've already adapted to one another as much as we needed to. I accept your qualities _and_ your flaws,” he explains. “I love you for who you are now, not who you could be.” John brings his left hand up to his right wrist to undo the button there and then swaps sides before bringing his hands up to his collar. “I was worried about what you would think of what I let him do to me. But it's just another part of me that you already know: I like danger.”

 

“You _love_ danger,” Sherlock corrects.

 

John chuckles. “I love danger,” he agrees. “And I love your brilliant mind. Yes, Moriarty tried and it was enough in my angered state to agree, but he can't compare to you in any way.” The buttons of his shirt are undone one by one and John watches Sherlock's face as Sherlock focuses his gaze on the shirt parting open from top to the middle so that the bandage at his torso partly shows, and then further to the bottom so that the hickeys and teeth marks and then the corner of the bandage on his side comes into view.

 

By the time that John takes his hands away from his middle and straightens his arms to let the shirt slip over his shoulders and down his back John can see in Sherlock's eyes as they run the expanse of John's body that Sherlock's mind is already working to piece together everything that Moriarty did to him.

 

“Before you tell me your findings and get to find out if you are correct, I want you to know that I am done with searching for someone to spend my life with,” John utters.

 

Sherlock's mind is clouded with thoughts of where Moriarty touched John with his hands, and his mouth, and his knife, but as he looks up to meet John's eyes once more there's a thought that makes its way right through the swarm: _How can John be so brilliant_? And it's closely followed by: _How will I not get lost in you?_

 

But the look that John meets him with when he sees how consumed Sherlock is with  _John, John, John_  is familiar. The adoration, the wonder, he's seen it all before. And the  _John, John, John_  has also been present in Sherlock's mind at various times before when John does something incredible -which at times is as quotidian and ordinary as bringing Sherlock a cup of tea. So maybe, just maybe, Sherlock _can_ control this, can control how often and how long he gets lost in John and still have complete mastery of his own mind like he does when he's not allowing himself to be lost in John.

 

Sherlock takes in a deep breath as he feels acceptance falling into place inside his mind palace, and as he exhales his lips turn up and his eyes soften in contentment while John completes his thought with, “The only person I want to be with is you.” 

 

Maybe Sherlock is cheating himself.


End file.
